Chapter 9

Jimmy has knelt downon the deck and is using both hands to examine the blow to the side of my head. I don't think it's bleeding, but I might not know if it was.

He's making a lot of anxious, wordless sounds, and for some reason they make the whole thing worse.

They make it clear how horrible what happened actually is if even quiet, stoic Jimmy can't control his voice.

I glance over toward the bent body of the man who attacked me. It's a mistake. Jimmy shot him in the head.

With a surge of panic, I push away Jimmy's hands and lean away from the wood of the deck to vomit in choked, painful wretches.

It's mortifying—the final indignity—and I start to sob when I've finally emptied my stomach.

Making more of those gruff sounds of protest, Jimmy adjusts his position so he can gather me up in his arms and carry me into the house.

I'm glad to get inside. It feels safer there. I'm still crying when he puts me down on the couch. I curl up on my side in the fetal position.

He stares down at me like he's frozen for several seconds. Then he goes and wets a kitchen towel and brings it over to wipe down my face and neck, concentrating on the spot where I was hit. He moves my hand and positions it to hold the cool, wet towel around what will definitely become a bruise.

We have no ice since it hasn't been below freezing even at night in the past couple of weeks. We have no cold pack or frozen vegetables to help reduce swelling. At the moment even that reality feels tragic to me.

Jimmy stares at me again, once more trapped in what might be indecision. Then he walks away from the couch.

This time I don't know what he's doing until he returns with one of his old T-shirts, one I'd recently moved out of regular rotation because it was so thin and worn. I was saving it to tear into rags.

It must be the first item of clothing he saw. He lifts me up to remove the torn remnants of my shirt and pulls the T-shirt over my head instead.

His hands move down to my skirt. I'm not sure what he's doing. He fiddles with the fabric.

Finally he rasps out, "Did he…? Did he…?" His face twists dramatically. He can't finish the question.

He doesn't need to. "No." I'm vaguely surprised my voice still works. It's achingly sore from screaming. "He didn't rape me. He… He… tried."

"I know he did. Oh my God, Chloe." He frames my face with both big hands, his touch incredibly gentle. "Are you okay?"

"I… I think so." I pull back from him slightly, not because I don't like his strong presence but because it's making me feel even weaker. "I left my gun in the house. I should have had?—"

"No." He's kneeling next to the couch. He reaches out like he might touch me again, but he stops himself. "No, no, no."

"I didn't expect it." I'm starting to cry again, but I make myself talk through it. "I was home, so I… so I thought… I should have had my gun. I'm so sorry."

"No!" he says more fiercely now. "You didn't do anything wrong, baby. You were at home. You should have been safe."

He's never called me baby before today. While it sounds tender and entirely unconscious on his part, I'd rather him call me girlie like he sometimes does when he's in a good mood.

Baby makes me feel small and young, and I already feel like that most of the time. I've been trying so hard not to be that.

I want to be strong, but I'm not. I guess I'll always be helpless. Need protection.

I hug my arms to my chest and squeeze my eyes shut, shaking as I stifle more sobs.

He makes another throaty sound of objection and moves to the couch, pulling me against him and wrapping his arms around me. "Listen to me, Chloe. It's not your fault. It's not. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I should have had my?—"

"You should feel safe in your own home. And if you don't, it's my fault, not yours."

I whimper and pull back. "It's not?—"

"Yes, it is." His face and dark eyes are dead serious. "It's my job to keep you safe. I'm supposed to do that, and I didn't."

"You did! You got here. You killed him before he could… before he… You did keep me safe, Jimmy. I'm really okay." I make myself stop crying since I can see the guilt and responsibility in his expression, in his stiff posture. "I'm sorry I fell apart, but I'm really okay."

"Stop saying you're sorry," he mutters, reaching out to pull me toward him again. "You didn't do anythin' wrong."

"Neither did you." I should be stronger if only to prove to Jimmy that I'm really okay, but I don't have it in me at the moment. I need his arms around me. His big, solid body. His familiar scent. The feeling vibrating just beneath the surface of his presence.

It's making me feel better, and I need it.

I say against the flannel shirt he's wearing, "Thank you for getting here in time."

* * *

We stay on the couch for a while. He hugs me tightly, rocking us slightly until I've finally stopped crying.

He looks relieved when I ask if I can have a bath—probably because it gives him something concrete to do—and he gets busy drawing water and heating up a pot to fill up the tub.

I get in and soak for a long time, eventually using the soap and washcloth to scrub every inch of my body.

I still feel panicky when I remember that man on top of me. I'm still queasy when I imagine what might have happened. But I breathe slowly, purposefully, and calm my mind, convincing myself to hold it together.

Jimmy obviously feels bad, feels guilty, and wants to make it better, but I still have responsibilities as his woman. I can't fall apart so much I can no longer do my job.

When I finally get out, the water in the tub is cool and I've regained my composure. I put Jimmy's old T-shirt back on and a pair of knit shorts I found at the bottom of a box in the storage room since I don't feel like wearing real clothes.

"I'm all done," I say, going to the back door and sticking my head out. "Did you want to take a bath too since we have the tub filled?"

He visibly hesitates, and I understand why.

"I'm really okay. I'll go lie down in the bedroom. There's no reason to waste all that water. I heated up another pot for you."

That evidently decides him. "Okay. You stay inside."

"I will." I swallow hard, wondering how this is ever going to work. While I have no desire to be outside by myself right now, obviously that can't be a permanent situation. I'm sure I'll be able to overcome my nerves, but Jimmy is acting very protective. Hopefully he'll relax after he recovers too because he can't defend me every second of every day.

We both have work to do—work that often takes us away from each other.

I don't put any of those thoughts into words. His overreaction is probably similar to my continued shakiness. I curl up on our bed while he takes his bath, and I'm still there when he finishes and joins me in the room.

I'm curled up on my side, facing the wall, so I can't see him, but I can sense him. Hear him. Smell him as he walks over to the bed.

"You okay?" he asks thickly when I don't turn over.

"Yeah."

He climbs onto the bed and scoots over so his big body is pressed against my back, spooning me from behind. He wraps his arms around me.

I sigh and want to cry again but manage to restrain the impulse.

For a long time, neither one of us speaks. He holds me, and I hug one of his forearms to my chest.

"Was he…?" I haven't spoken in so long that my voice doesn't want to work. Plus it's still raw from all that screaming. "Was he one of those guys from last night?"

"Yeah."

"It sounded like he was… he was looking for me."

"He saw you walkin' back with me two different Saturday nights. I guess he figured out the general area where we live."

"But why would he…? Why would he…?" I can't even wrap my head around why he would go to so much trouble.

"'Cause he's a fuckin' asshole who thinks he can take anythin' he wants. There were always people like that, but they got free rein after Impact. Why d'you think the gangs still control so much territory? There's still too many assholes out there."

"I guess." I pause, my mind still whirling. "I thought they didn't come over this way much."

"They shouldn't. They haven't in a long time." He lets out a long exhale, his breath blowing my hair. "Seem to be crossin' over more lately. So far just a few strays, but a few strays is all it takes to make our area unsafe. Gonna have to do somethin' about it."

"What can we do?"

"Not sure yet. But gotta figure out somethin'."

Our conversation trails off after that. He holds me for a long time until his stomach gives a loud growl.

It surprises me so much I giggle.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"It's way past lunch. I'll fix you something." I start to scoot toward the edge of the bed, but he doesn't let me.

"Uh-uh. I'll do lunch. What do you feel like?"

"I'm not hungry. But I really don't mind making you something."

"No way. You stay here and rest. I'll grab somethin' quick."

"I shouldn't stay in bed all?—"

"Yes, you should. Stop arguin', girlie, and do what you're told."

I give a little huff, but I'm almost smiling as I roll back over to face the wall.

* * *

I spent most of the afternoon in bed, but I do manage to rouse myself before dinner. Despite Jimmy's insistence that I'm allowed to take it easy all day, I'm in fit condition to make us omelets and toast and wash the dishes and clean up afterward.

My whole cheek is throbbing with pain, and I don't look in the mirror for more than a few seconds at a time. It's all bruised and swollen. He really hit me hard.

But if that's the extent of my injury, I count myself lucky. It could have been so much worse.

Jimmy dragged the man's body into the woods earlier and covered it with leaves and dead foliage. There's nothing else we can do with it. We have no idea who the man's people are, and we couldn't trust them anyway.

We definitely don't want any more of them to know where our cabin is, isolated out here in the woods.

I never gave much thought to the community of dangerous sorts who live on the border of The Wild, except for the occasional day when it's Jimmy's turn to walk the patrol. I knew they were there. They killed Grandpa. But they always felt a long way away—distant from this protected valley of farmland and hardworking, neighborly folk.

But they're well within range to reach us. Just because they've gone years without paying any attention to us doesn't mean they never will.

Jimmy told me once that they had a bunch of violent skirmishes early on, but they always ended up as stalemates. Everyone has kept to their own territories ever since. Despite our resources here, they don't try to take what we have by force because they don't want to do all the hard work it takes to sustain it. Farms are no good to folk unless they actually work them, and those gangs prefer to live off the dregs of the old world rather than build a new world for themselves.

The stalemate has felt safe to me, but maybe it's not.

After dinner, Jimmy does the outdoor chores while I wipe down the kitchen. I've rested all afternoon, but I still feel exhausted now that it's time for bed.

Maybe tomorrow will feel different. Maybe there'll be some needed distance between me and the unexpected trauma of today.

Jimmy stands at the back door with his shotgun while I use the outhouse. He's never done that before, but I don't question it. I give him a little smile as he steps out of the way for me to walk back inside.

I'm still wearing his big, raggedy T-shirt, but I take it and my shorts and panties off before I wash up and brush my teeth.

He finishes locking up and comes to the bedroom as I'm walking across the room toward the bed.

He clearly understands the significance of my being naked. He jerks to a stop and says, "We don't gotta have sex tonight."

I turn around. "You don't want to?"

His eyes make a quick, automatic trip up and down my body but then focus urgently on my face. "I thought you wouldn't want to after what happened."

"Oh." I think about that. We always have sex. I can count on four fingers the number of evenings we haven't, and those were when I accidentally fell asleep before Jimmy came to bed or when I really felt bad from my period. "I… I don't know."

"Okay." He stares some more. Shifts from foot to foot. "Well, we're not doin' it unless you really want it."

I nod, taking his muttered declaration seriously.

The truth is I have absolutely no idea what I want.

I enjoy having sex with Jimmy more than almost anything else in my life. I don't have recreation like I used to as a kid—time spent purely to have fun. I work and eat and rest when I can and go through the basic routines of life. Sometimes they're hard. Sometimes they're tedious. Most of the time there's a satisfaction to fulfilling the role that's been given to me—that I've chosen—to the best of my ability. But, since we're not trying for children, sex is the only part of this life that's main purpose is for us to feel good.

But I understand why he's surprised. I was violated physically. Not all the way. Not as completely as I could have been. But still… Maybe the expected response for a woman in my position is to protect her body from opening up to anyone—even her man, the one she trusts.

I really don't know how I feel as I get into bed, stretching out with my head on my pillow and pulling the covers up over me.

Jimmy makes quick work of washing up since he took a bath earlier and comes to bed wearing his boxers.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, turning his head to look at me over his shoulder for a minute. Then he reaches for the lantern, leaving the bedroom in darkness.

He lies down. Turns over on his side to face me. "You okay?" he asks very softly.

"Yeah. I think I am."

"You don't gotta bury it away somewhere. I'm not expectin' you to jump right back to normal."

"I know you're not." I stare in his direction, but it's too dark to see much of his face yet. "Do you feel bad about having to kill that man?"

There's a kind of surprise in his silence. "Why would I feel bad? He hurt you. He was gonna hurt you even worse."

"I know. I'm glad you killed him. Thank you for doing it. I just meant is it… Is it hard having to kill anyone?"

"Oh." This time he's silent because he's thinking. "It was at first. Before Impact when the world went to shit, I never killed anyone. I was… I was just a farm boy. I got a job in HVAC—fixing and installing heat pumps and furnaces."

"I didn't know that." I actually know very little about his life before now. He's never told me, and I've always been nervous to ask for fear of sounding nosy or intrusive.

"Yeah. I coulda worked for my dad, but I wanted some… independence. So I did my own thing. I made okay money. Me and Mary had a house about thirty miles away. Didn't move here until things got bad before Impact. Anyway, I've hunted all my life, but I'd never killed a person. Not until we had to start holdin' off attacks. And by then it all felt so… so necessary that it didn't tear me up too bad. If they're gonna hurt or kill my people, I'm gonna kill them."

"That makes sense." I reach out and stroke his beard lightly. "I think I'd probably feel the same way. But Grandpa kept me away from all that. He never wanted me to be around violence. He wouldn't even let me hold a gun."

"I can see that." He reaches up to cover my hand, which is still playing with his beard. "You shouldn't have to deal with all that."

"Everyone does now. Why shouldn't I deal with it too? It's not like I'm different or special."

He's breathing heavily, holding on to my hand. He doesn't say anything.

"I don't…" I clear my throat and start again, speaking very softly. "I don't want to be babied."

"I get that. I'm not gonna treat you like a kid. But you're not on your own anymore. You're my woman now. That means it's my job to protect you. You gotta let me do that."

His words aren't emotional or romantic or even particularly intimate. They're blunt and matter-of-fact.

But they make my insides clench anyway. They make me want to wriggle and squirm. "I… I know."

My answer seems to satisfy him. He lets out a sigh and reaches out to pull me against him. When I burrow into him, he must sense my neediness because he tightens his arms and pulls me over so I'm lying on top of him.

We stay in the urgent embrace for a long time until the anxious fluttering inside me finally settles. By then Jimmy's cock has hardened against my middle. He's not making any moves. He's clearly assumed we're not having sex tonight. But the feel of his erection sparks a different kind of neediness inside me.

I start to kiss my way down his chest, but he stops me by pulling me up and rolling us both over so he's on top.

"What are you doing?" I ask, confused and flustered by the sudden move. "I was going to?—"

"I know what you were gonna do, but we're not doin' that tonight."

"Why not?" I'm honestly not sure if it means we're not doing the blow job we normally start with or if we're not having sex at all.

"If you want me to fuck you, we can do it this way." He's shifted so he's positioned between my legs, which have fallen open automatically to make room for him.

"Okay." I don't have to understand in order to accept his decision. If there's anything he doesn't want to do in the bedroom, I'll never try to push or pressure him into it.

I know he loves for me to suck his cock, so whatever is happening right now is not a slight against the way I please him. He wants something different tonight.

And I just want to feel him inside me.

He teases my breasts until my pussy is wet and pliant and then edges his cock inside me, holding himself up on his forearms so his full weight isn't resting on top of me.

He stares down at me as he starts to thrust. It feels good. Safe. Familiar.

He's Jimmy, and he belongs on top of me, inside me, against me. He belongs here. No one else does.

"Is this okay?" he asks, already slightly breathless. His pelvis is rocking, steady and gentle—not pumping fast and hard like he sometimes does.

"Yeah." I bend my knees up around his hips. One of my hands is clutching at his hair, and the other is hooked around the back of his neck. "This is good. This is what I need."

He makes a throaty sound and jerks his head to the side. His thrusting speeds up for a few seconds before he slows it back down.

He's big and solid above me. Strong and warm and human. He's breathing in fast pants now. He's tensing up, already close to coming.

I squeeze around him with my pussy, making him huff. "You can come, Jimmy. I'm not going to get there."

It's true. I'm filled with good feelings, but none of them are an orgasm. It's more about feeling safe and sheltered and cared for.

"I can wait." He slows himself down again, his features twisting in effort.

"You don't need to wait. I don't want to come tonight. I can't… I can't focus enough. I just wanted this, and you gave it to me. So now you can come."

He holds out for another couple of minutes but then falls out of rhythm with a rough groan. He yanks his cock out of my pussy at the very last moment and then squeezes it between our bodies as he comes.

He always pulls out. Every single time, even the nights of my period when there's little chance of my getting pregnant. Tonight is the first time he seems to have barely managed it in time.

I love the helplessness of his shaking. The way he gasps and moans as he works through the spasms of his release. The way he loses his strength afterward and falls on top of me before he can manage to roll us over on his side.

I hold on to him for a long time and feel better than I have all day.

Eventually Jimmy says, "You really okay?"

"Yeah. I'm okay now."

"Feels like I was kinda selfish just now."

"You weren't. You gave me what I needed. What I asked for."

"You're sure?" He wraps both arms around me, not squeezing now, just holding me close to him.

"I'm sure. Thank you." I press a little kiss on his shoulder.

It stills him. Silences him. He lets out a long breath.

"I'm glad you're safe," he murmurs after a long stretch of silence.

"Me too. I'm glad you're here."

* * *

I feel better—more like myself—the next morning.

My cheek is still deeply bruised and achy. It actually looks worse today than it did yesterday. But in every other way I feel more in control, confident that I can get back to normal.

The problem is Jimmy isn't.

He won't let me out of his sight.

I understand that this is probably the aftermath of the events of yesterday. He got really scared that he'd left me alone without protection for that stranger to victimize. He feels somehow responsible no matter how irrational it is.

I can understand all that, and I'm prepared to have patience. But he's being absolutely ridiculous.

It's Monday. He's supposed to go back to his folks' to help with the work there, while I'm supposed to stay here and do laundry, which has become my main Monday chore.

But he absolutely refuses to leave me alone.

At first it's a normal discussion of our plans for the day. We do it every morning over breakfast. So I tell him I'm going to work on laundry all day, and he says no.

No.

He tells me no.

I can't stay here on my own. I can't be going in and out of the house throughout the day when he's not around. It doesn't matter if I promise to carry my gun with me every single moment, I'm still not allowed to go about my day.

I'm not allowed.

That's what he tells me.

At first I counter his irrational responses as sweetly and patiently as I normally communicate with him when he's being grumpy or stubborn. I understand why he's worried, but I'm going to be a lot more careful from now on. He's lived here for years without strangers lurking behind every tree. One random incident doesn't define the entire future.

But he won't listen. He won't agree. He keeps saying no, and there's absolutely no budging him.

So I give up before I start to snap at him and tell him to stop being stupid.

He probably just needs another day or so to get over it. He won't continue to be so ludicrously defensive.

I go with him to his parents' house and help Greta with the kitchen work while he works with his dad outside.

I'm annoyed all day, and it's made worse because everyone who sees me is shocked by the sight of my face. I have to tell the same story over and over again and then have almost everyone believe that I'm the one too scared to stay by myself. That coming here was my idea and not Jimmy's.

I wouldn't dream of talking bad about Jimmy to anyone even though I'm more and more frustrated with him as the day passes. I gently correct people's assumptions, explaining that Jimmy was worried and wanted me to come along.

I'm not sure if anyone believes me, and it makes me feel even more weak and helpless than usual.

So by the time Jimmy finally drags himself from his work, dirty and exhausted, I'm not feeling particularly soft or sympathetic toward him.

I don't say a word about my feelings as I help him clean up, and then we say goodbye to his parents. I smile and interact in my normal manner and don't pull away from Jimmy when he puts a hand on my back as we leave the house.

We walk in silence for several minutes.

He's tired—I know he is. He's done hard manual labor all day. I'm not going to lay into him right now just because I've been holding back my annoyance all day.

"You mad?" he asks at last, giving me a long sidelong look.

"I'm not mad."

"You're actin' mad."

I take a deep breath and release it. "I'm not acting mad in any way."

"Well, you're pretendin' not to be. You're always real sweet and givin' and polite. But usually you mean it, and right now you don't. You think I can't tell the difference?"

I was hoping he couldn't. I swallow hard and force a smile up at him, using the last of my restraint not to blow up at him.

"Shit, woman, you might as well just let me have it. That's the scariest smile I ever seen in my life."

He probably means what he's saying, but there's also a teasing note underlying the words. He's trying to lighten the mood. He's trying to make me laugh.

And that just makes me even angrier.

"This isn't a joke to me," I grit out, staring ahead of us as we walk because the sight of him is annoying me even more.

"Okay. I get it."

"No, I really don't think you do."

He comes to an abrupt stop and reaches for my shoulders to turn me around to face him. When I stare at his dirty, sweaty shirt, he lifts my chin to make me meet his eyes. "So tell me. If I don't get it, then tell me!"

My cheeks are blazing. I'm shuddering with reined-in feelings. I'm amazed I'm able to keep my voice as cool and clipped as it is when I reply, "I don't like how you're treating me."

"I'm just tryin' to get you to talk to me!"

"I don't mean right now. I mean today. I don't like it. It upsets me."

His face twists. Surprise and reluctance both. "You're serious? You're still pissed that I wouldn't leave you alone all day with no protection?"

I pull myself out of the hand he's still holding my shoulder with. "Yes. I'm still pissed. Did you think it was a little thing?"

"What the hell do you expect after what happened yesterday?"

"I expect you to be reasonable! To let me live my life. To do my job. You taught me how to use my gun, so I expect you not to treat me like some sort of child who's incapable of taking care of herself."

He's gaping at me, clearly stunned and outraged by my passionate declaration. "You can't be serious."

"Yes, I'm serious! I can't believe you're actually surprised. I get that this world is dangerous, but everyone else is managing to make do. So why do I need to be hauled around like a helpless baby? Why can't I be treated like everyone else?"

"Because you're not everyone else," he rasps out. "How the fuck can you think I'd ever treat you like everyone else?"

I hug my arms to my chest, squeezing tight, trying desperately to hold in sobs. If I want to be treated like a capable adult, the last thing I need to do is burst into tears. "I know I used to be mostly useless, but I've learned a lot since then. I've been working really hard. I don't think I'm so useless any?—"

"Course you aren't useless!" He sounds angrier now. Indignant. Not quite so stunned. "Don't say that about yourself."

"But you're treating me?—"

"I'm takin' care of you. I'm protecting you. I told you over and over that it's my job and you gotta let me do it."

"I understand that, and I appreciate it. But you're going overboard. You can't watch over me every second of every day! It will never work. We've both got work we have to do, so if we're ever going to manage having a life together, you're going to have to trust me on my own sometimes."

"I do trust you." He seems to have pulled back into himself. Stifled the fierce feeling he was expressing before. He mumbles as he continues, "But I'm not lettin' you get hurt again."

"I don't want to get hurt either, but you can't control everything. We're going to have to figure something out. I don't think I'm a foolish person. I've never run headlong into danger. But I do have to be left alone occasionally unless you're prepared to hire a bodyguard or something."

My last words are dry and sardonic, but I see his expression shift like he's actually considering options.

"Argh!" I burst out, completely at my wit's end. It's like trying to reason with a stone cliff face. "You're being ridiculous! You can't overreact this way."

He narrows his eyes, breathing heavily. He's definitely angry in a way I've almost never seen him.

"I'm sorry," I add, moderating my tone. "I know yesterday was hard for both of us. But we're living in this world, and there's no way to ensure anyone is perfectly safe. So maybe tomorrow you go to help your folks again like you planned, and I'll stay and work on laundry. I'll keep my gun with me at all times."

It's what I suggested very gently this morning and was immediately dismissed.

It is again now.

"No," he grits out.

"You can't just say no like that!"

"Yes, I can. I'm saying no. The discussion is over."

It feels like the whole world is throbbing around me. That's how outraged and shaky I am. "The discussion can't be over until?—"

"It's over!" he snaps out. "The decision is made."

He's not loud, but he's curt. Authoritative. I've never heard him like that before.

His tone immediately silences me, leaving me still shaky but hurt instead of indignant.

I can't believe he's talking to me like this.

I can't believe he's treating me this way.

Not like a partner at all.

I want to cry, but I don't let myself. I fall into step with him as he starts walking again, and I can't unclench enough to say a single word on the entire trip back home.